


My Flatmate May As Well Be a Cat

by alienlikeme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:10:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienlikeme/pseuds/alienlikeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For soldierlocked for the Johnlock Gift Exchange based off of her prompt "snuggling"</p><p>For a week Sherlock shows up each evening at 221b soaking wet and covered in a layer of grime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Flatmate May As Well Be a Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soldierlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soldierlocked/gifts).



The door too 221b slammed open. John did not stir from his place on the sofa, Sherlock never simply opened doors, they always slammed in his presence.

“Sherlock, did you get the-”

John cut himself of as he turned to Sherlock who stood dripping in the doorway. Sherlock's usual disgruntled feline appearance was only further drawn out by his expression only likened by that of a cat given an unprecedented bath. 

The man stood dripping on the carpet. He was covered in a thin film of dirt and if his shivering and the blue of his lips was anything to go by, borderline hypothermic. 

“W-what happened?!”

“The Thames John, the Thames.”

With that the consulting detective marched to his room, dropping his coat, with a heavy, wet plop, to the floor. Seconds later he emerged, still covered in grime, but at least with dry clothing on. He headed straight for John, curling up against his side.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asked warily, suspicion clear in his eyes as he regarded his flatmate. 

“Conserving body heat,” came the muffled reply as Sherlock buried his face into John's underarm. 

John sighed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders knowing that Sherlock did need the warmth. The consulting detective practically purred, the vibrations stirring through his chest, and snuggled in closer.

John turned back to the television while Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and curled further into his side. It was probably something about John's taste in television and so he chose to ignore it. 

The dim lighting of the room, paired with the soft whisper of rain in the background resulted in John blinking only to find that the flat was now dark with moonlight streaming in through the window. Sherlock was now gone leaving behind only dirty smears against John's sweater. 

John grimaced in part because it would probably stain, but also because of what that smear probably contained. He stood and trudged up the stairs, still half asleep, and dropped off to sleep not long after.

*

This process happened again for the next few days. Sherlock would enter the flat, soaked and covered in dirt, muttering about the Thames and would promptly dive into John's side like some heat seeking missile.

It had been going on a week when John finally decided to get answers, and not just vague hand flapping and the name of the river. 

“Sherlock,” John started as the other man entered the flat, once again soaked in river water, “What it going on?”

“The Tha-”

“Don't just say the Thames,” John cut him off, “Are you dredging the bloody lake by yourself?”

Sherlock just furrowed his brow and muttered something under his breathe before heading for his room. 

“You're not getting away that easily.”

John followed him.

“Would you please excuse me, I have to change,” Sherlock said, turning to face John who leaned against the doorway.

“Go ahead. It's not like I haven't seen a naked man before.” He was not going to be leaving without getting answers. 

Sherlock huffed quietly and rummaged through his wardrobe for dry clothes.

“Are you really going to stand there and watch?” Sherlock whirled around to face him.

John raised an eyebrow, but made no move to leave his spot against the door frame. Stubborn son of a bitch. 

With a glare Sherlock stripped down quickly, process only hindered by his clothing sticking to his skin, damn river, and pulled on pyjamas. He wrapped his robe around him as an added layer and stomped past John to flop down dramatically on the couch.

John sat across from him in his chair and asked, “Is it a case, or an experiment?”

“Both, neither.”

“Could I get a straight answer?”

“An old case and a disgruntled offender. I have , however, collected some good samples. Mind you, they have been on my clothing.”

Sherlock sat up and pulled his knees up to his chest shivering.

“Oh come here,” John said, shifting over in his seat to make space.

There were far too many bony elbows, and knees, and uncomfortable contortions as Sherlock fit himself into the chair, snuggling into John's side.

“How about you stop getting yourself thrown into a lake,” John said, reaching over Sherlock for a book. Sherlock grumbled in annoyance, but didn't retort and wriggled in closer to John.


End file.
